The Prize
by ashhead
Summary: Kate reflects on being Jack and Sawyer's 'prize'. Skate.


He was an obstinate fool; attractive, alluring, and with a smile that made her senses dissolve into a sweet oblivion, but still, an idiot. He knew full well that he wasn't up to the journey from the hatch to his tent, but he had insisted. His shoulder was still weeping fresh blood every time he exerted himself beyond the effort it took to sit up. But somehow he'd managed to convince her to take him, his flirtatious persistence combined with Jack's looming presence, oppressive and disapproving, making her more eager than usual to get back out into the open.

If she was honest though, they weren't the only reason she was keen to get out of the hatch. She found it gloomy, the grey walls and depressing atmosphere claustrophobic, especially to the girl who had spent her whole life running away from cages of one sort or another. The sunlight glistening through leaves made patterns of shadows that she could jump in and out of, feeling the buzz of freedom as she did. Added to this was the seductive heat of the warmth of Sawyer's body, sending shivers through her as she helped steady him. Even his obvious fatigue couldn't dampen her spirits, and he seemed to draw strength from this.

When they arrived at his tent, both slightly breathless, their bodies disentangled, even as their eyes brought further heat. Sawyer's face had lost it's greyish tinge of sickness, brightened by the sun, and with a sheen of perspiration he seemed to glow. Kate's fingers itched to touch him, enhanced by the heat she saw in his eyes. But she kept her distance, they both did, allowing teasing words and stolen glances to convey what neither of them were willing to say.

---

Jack was seething. Somehow in the past week he had been transformed into an errand boy. Having Kate run away after kissing him was embarrassing, but he had felt the desire in her kiss, and knew that she felt the same way he did. He could forgive her for that. Hell, he could even forgive her for clucking over Sawyer like some mother hen, he supposed it was part of some innate need to play nurse that women had. But getting him to do Sawyer's laundry was just completely out of line. If she wanted to play slave for Sawyer that was fine, but dragging him into her fantasy was completely unacceptable.

How she'd managed to talk him into it he wasn't quite sure. His mind seemed to turn a tiny bit fuzzy when she was near, the words coming out of his mouth not always related to what he wanted to say. Sawyer had managed to bleed on every piece of clothing he had, and they needed washing. She, of course, couldn't do it because she was taking him back to the beach. Which was fine, except why did _she_ have to take him back to the beach. The idea of Sawyer alone in the jungle with Kate, probably using his injury as an excuse to lean on her and grope her whilst they walked, was completely disgusting. Why Kate refused to see how repulsive the man was, Jack would never know.

But somehow she'd managed to convince him that it was the best option, and his mind couldn't manage to come up with a convincing argument against this. So he stuffed Sawyer's clothing into the washing machine with as much annoyance as he could muster, refusing to separate the whites from the colours, hoping that somehow all of Sawyer's clothing would get turned pink. Picking up the pair of jeans that Sawyer had been carried in wearing, he stuffed them into the machine and went to shut the lid. A crumpling sound stopped him, and for a moment he was tempted just to leave it. Whatever was in the pocket couldn't be that important. Curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled the jeans back out, dropping them on the floor as he revealed a battered looking envelope. Absently shutting the machine lid back down again, he pulled the letter out of the envelope and began reading.

---

Darkness had come in quicker than she had remembered, and she'd been reluctantly forced to leave Sawyer in search of some firewood. Once at the beach he had insisted, as she had known he would, that he stay in his tent, as enthusiastic to be away from the hatch as she was. She hadn't put up much of a fight, and had instead spent much of the afternoon teasing him about the state of his tent, much of his stash having been ransacked by the rest of the survivors. He had reacted in his usual belligerent manner, but that had melted when he saw through her attempts to wind him up, and their flirtatious banter had resumed.

It took her a while to find any firewood. Eventually she had awkwardly approached Sayid for some, the grief that shadowed his eyes haunting her with her own memories. He had handed it over wordlessly, her sympathies meaningless to him, as were the cries from the beach that drew her away with a cry of thanks echoing behind her.

Kate reached the beach quickly, quickly enough to see Jack beating Sawyer senseless until he was pulled off by Jin. She glanced between the two men; Jack's outraged face was red with effort, his eyes filled with disgust whilst Sawyer was fighting to stay conscious, blood dribbling down his face. Although her mind screamed at her not to get involved, remembering all too well how painful putting herself in the middle could be, she couldn't help but be drawn in. The horrific contrast of Sawyer's pallid skin and the heated anger pouring from Jack was agonising, bringing with it far too many memories for her to stay away.

"What the hell are you doing, Jack?" Her words echoed across the beach, demanding attention. Feeling Jack's struggles cease at Kate's words, Jin released him, not wanting to be drawn into Kate's palpable fury, leaving Jack to face that on his own.

Panting from exertion and anger, tinged with a brush of shame, Jack shrugged himself out of Jin's grip, turning to face Kate. The hint of shame he felt for attacking an injured man faded as he watched her go to Sawyer, brushing her fingertips down his face. He grunted, "I'm alright, Freckles," although the evidence was clearly to the contrary.

Jack's righteous anger returned, bubbling over that she would care about such a man. Seething, he yelled, "Get away from her." From his pocket he pulled the letter that proved what Jack had known about Sawyer from the moment he met him, his bloodied knuckles leaving smears on the crumpled envelope.

Kate heard Jack's words, and felt a stab of terror stab through her. The voice might have been Jack's, but the tone was one so familiar to her, one that still haunted her dreams. She turned to face him, and was greeted with that familiar vicious sneer. For a second she half expected him to hit her. But the fear on Kate's face was only further fuel to Jack's fury, adding to his hatred of Sawyer and the effect he had on Kate.

It was then that she noticed the bit of paper crumpled in Jack's hand. "Give me the letter Jack." It was a demand, and the steel in her voice surprised even her.

It should have surprised Jack that Kate knew about the letter, but his brain didn't even register that there was something odd about her knowing. "These people are dead because of him. He's a murderer Kate."

Kate flinched at his words, they bit right down to the core. She knew that his respect for her had diminished since she had refused to tell him what she had done, but they still had a relationship of sorts. She still relied on him, needed his reassurances and companionship to keep herself sane. But the disgust in his voice when he uttered the word 'murderer' sent chills through her, revealing a side of Jack she hadn't known was there. The words, "So am I," were on the tip of her tongue when Sawyer barrelled into Jack, knocking them both to the ground as he wrenched his letter from Jack's bloodied fist.

"You do not touch my things." His attempt at threatening would have almost been laughable in any other situation, he was barely able to move and his voice was tinged with pain. But Kate couldn't find any humour in it, numbed by Jack's words and the hurt in Sawyer's voice that resonated so painfully with her own.

Coming closer to where they had fallen, she attempted to lower her voice, even though all she wanted to do was scream. "I am not a prize. This isn't the winner gets to take the Kate home." She turned away from both of them, and with a glance at the gathered crowd, dissipating them with her anger, she walked back down the beach, her gentle stride quickly gathering pace until she could feel the wind rushing past her.

---

Darkness enshrouded Kate, bringing with it a chill wind that only served to torment her further. She had come a long way down the beach, far enough so that silence could envelope her, not being able to bear the sympathy that was bound to come. She was sure she was being purposefully tormented. Everywhere she looked brought up memories long repressed, dragging her painful past into the present until all she could do was breakdown and cry. Jack had caught her last time, and she was thankful for that, but he had been responsible for this, and she didn't know if she could forgive him for that.

The way they saw her disgusted her, a pawn in their ridiculous mind games; a thing to be possessed, less than human. And yet it wasn't even that she wasn't used to being looked at like that. It was one of the certainties of life, something she was used to relying on for survival. But here, in this place, she had been deceived into a false sense of security. She had felt safe, let her guard down, relaxed even, shaking off the constant need to be on the move. She supposed she ought to be thankful to them for ripping her delusions apart, but it still stung, a fresh scar to add to all the others.

_She glared at the microwave, urging the timer on, desperate to be out of there. The atmosphere in the room was noxious, filled with the harsh scent of cheap beer and a dense cloud of smoke that didn't smell like it had come from cigarettes. But it wasn't this that was making her skin crawl and her lungs choke with each breath. Tonight was poker night, which Wayne and his friends spent getting drunk, stoned and telling lurid stories about whoever they had slept with last. Wayne's leering looks and disgusting suggestions she could take. She was used to them, having experienced them ever since she had hit puberty; but she knew no matter what he said, he'd never act on it, she had her father's protection there. But that didn't hold for Wayne's repulsive friends, and the more intoxicated they became the more they would try._

_So she had come down early to get something to eat, planning to retreat to her room and pull her bed across the door so they could get in. Usually it worked, even the man with the rolling stomach and little beady eyes was normally sober enough not to attempt to grope her at six o'clock. Tonight, however, appeared to be an exception to this, with all eight of them completely out of it by the time she came down. She'd crossed to the kitchen as quickly as she could, trying not to notice their eyes following her as she did. She'd been wearing a baggy sweater and pants in the hope that this would be at least a slight deterrent, but anything that was female and moved was clearly a viable option._

_Pulling a tin of beans, she emptied it into a bowl and shoved it in the microwave, not caring that it wasn't the best meal she ever had, her spine was creeping with icy cold fear, she needed to get out of there as quickly as she could. But the three minutes she'd put on the timer just wouldn't run out, the dial moving ridiculously slowly. At least the whirring as the bowl went round provided a noise that partly blocked out the overly loud, lewd conversation from the other room. She didn't need to turn around to know that their eyes were on her back. But three minutes couldn't provide them with any opportunities. _

_So lost was she in her mind, running from the demons that chased her whether her eyes were open or not, that the beep from the microwave made her jump even though she was watching the dial. Out of habit she glanced around nervously, which was one of the biggest mistakes she ever made. As soon as her eyes met with Wayne's she realised something was wrong. He smiled at her and called her name in his 'happy family' voice, a sickening laugh following. She glanced at the microwave, looking for any kind of excuse, anything she could use to escape the situation, but nothing appeared, and she found herself walking towards him even though every sense she had was screaming for her to run._

_As perverse as it was, she found herself standing behind Wayne as a measure of protection, looking to him to keep her safe even though she knew he had deliberately put her in this situation. He winked at her and beckoned her to come closer, and with a reluctance she did, seeing no way out of the situation. Her steps were tiny, knowing that the closer she got to him the more dangerous the situation became. When he could reach her his fists clenched into her sweater, dragging her too him until she could feel his sour breath on her face. She wanted to flinch away from it, run from him, but his grip on her top was firm despite the alcohol. So she held herself in check, trying to keep the terror off her face. _

_Wayne read her easily despite her attempts at control, he could feel her quaking, could taste her terror in the thick air, and it was more intoxicating than anything he'd ever drunk. He wondered why he hadn't thought of this before. He was always short of money, and it was embarrassing to have to call the evening to a halt this early because he'd run out of it. Katie was a burden on him, eating his money and disrespecting everything he did. It was time she paid for what she'd been given. Carefully, so that the others couldn't see, he flashed his cards in her face. He felt her jump slightly as his fist flashed before her face, and he stifled a laugh. He needed her, so he had to behave, at least for the moment anyway. _

"_This hand is gonna win us a lot of money Katie. You wanna help with that right?" His voice was poison to her, eliciting a nod before she even considered what it was he had said, anything to get his toxic breath away from her._

_Across the table, the fat man with the beady eyes fidgeted and ran his hands through his greasy hair, glancing around to catch congratulatory smiles from the other players. "With a prize like that, there's no way you're going to win Wayne." Even his voice was fat, a grunting noise that revolted her. But it was the way his eyes roamed her body freely that made her skin crawl._

_It took her a second to realise what it was that Wayne was doing. He was betting her on a card game, selling her to a fat, ugly man for the chance at making a couple of hundred bucks. She watched numbly as the game continued, not following what was happening, as incomprehensible as it was. Even as they showed their hands, she was clueless as to who had won, all eyes were watching her hungrily, not revealing anything. After what seemed like an eternity, Wayne's sadistic laugh echoed through the smoke. _

"_Told you I'd win Katie." He winked at her as his grubby hands reached for the screwed up notes in the middle of the table. More vindictively he added, "Go to bed now, before your mother gets home." The threat in the words was clear to Kate, although unnecessary. Telling tales to her mother wasn't something that ever ended well, and this situation was not something she ever wanted to repeat to anyone._

_Retreating from the room quickly, her feet barely able to keep up with her desperate need to run, she fled upstairs, leaving the beans in the microwave. She didn't allow herself to relax until the door was pushed shut and the bed dragged against it, even though her illusion that it presented any kind of security at all had been well and truly shattered. Ripping the blanket off the bed, she retreated to the furthest corner of her room, burying herself under it, wishing so desperately that she could disappear._

Alone in the darkness and the silence, Kate almost felt safe again. This was how things were supposed to be, a carefully maintained distance holding her apart from the people near her. It was too dangerous, too painful any other way.

She heard the footsteps, heavy and slow, long before the moonlight revealed who it was. She was tempted to flee, but something held her there, a need to fight, a need to be recognised as something other a pawn in a game.

He didn't understand why he'd felt the need to follow her. It was difficult enough to lay motionless on the floor, his body wracked with the constant ache from his shoulder and beating he'd taken from Jack. But something had driven him to come after her even though he knew it wouldn't do any good, to force his body past its endurance level so that he could see her. He'd spent at least an hour staring at his letter, not needing to read the words that were etched into his heart. But he didn't see the words, he didn't even see the letter. He saw her face, over and over, driving him mad. The look on her face didn't belong to her. It was his, his pain, his past, and yet it was written all over her face. The same paralysing fear, the same disgust, the same scars that he'd collected. He'd killed an innocent man because of that pain, and to see it in her eyes brought up memories he did care to have.

So he'd followed her, her footsteps etched in the sand and easy to follow despite the darkness. He needed to know, needed to understand what had done that to her, who had been responsible for giving her the same nightmares that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.

Sitting down in the sand next to her, glad he'd found her because he couldn't have kept walking for very much longer, Sawyer chucked one of the bottles he'd brought as a peace offering at her, looking out at the waves so he couldn't see her reaction. She picked up the little glass bottle, her fingers revealing what he had brought. She laughed lightly, she should have known he wouldn't give _all_ the alcohol to Jack.

"Thought you could use it." His voice was gruff and unassuming, allowing her to relax just a touch.

Unscrewing the lid, she put the bottle to her mouth, sighing as it burnt its way down. At least that worked the way it was supposed to.

Sawyer glanced at her, needing to see her, needing to see the pain that had brought him here. As he did, all his careful planning fell away. The pain was there, the haunted look so familiar to him was still evident on her face, but there was something even more familiar, something which resonated with him even more; the carefully maintained smile that didn't reach her eyes, the false façade that was meant to hide everything. He couldn't ask her for what he couldn't give himself, not whilst she was like this. He couldn't hurt in the way he had been hurt himself so many times.

About to leave, feeling like an intruder, he noticed her shiver. The exertion of walking down the beach had made oblivious to the coldness of the night. Moving himself closer to her, he wrapped an arm around her, feeling the coolness of her skin against his. For a moment she didn't respond, frozen in her memories. Then she leaned her head against his chest, letting his warmth touch her. For now, it was enough.


End file.
